


We Need To Stop Meeting Like This

by SoDoLaFaMiDoRe



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, Look I just really wanted to write this, M/M, Pre-Canon, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8386675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe/pseuds/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe
Summary: Thank you so much to vienn_peridot for acting as a sounding board when I felt out this fic, which has been like two years on the backburner. 
Without much further ado, here it is and here we go!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to vienn_peridot for acting as a sounding board when I felt out this fic, which has been like two years on the backburner. 
> 
> Without much further ado, here it is and here we go!

 

Most cold-constructed Cybertronians could remember the first time they woke up, facing whichever room was the onlining room, in a bay of pods holding similar frames ready to be crammed with all the knowledge they would need to function in society. Knockout often found himself musing about those times when he was doing menial tasks in the test-clinic the newly-onlined mechs were thrust into to hone their skills and find their specialties. 

 

Life had been hard under the Functionalists, back then. Everything down to a paint job was heavily regulated, and a minor step out of line could mean getting unwarranted attention from mechs you didn’t want attention from. When the war had broken out only a few decacycles into Knockout’s onlining, he’d kept to the neutral zones, using his status as a medic to help survive and barter for fuel and wax. He’d been able to survive like that for a while, but as time dragged on and the war became bigger and bigger, he knew it was only a matter of time until they were assimilated or perished.

 

The battlefields were dangerous places, he knew that much after watching a few of his batchmates die gruesome deaths, but the wounded and dying needed care. This one had been particularly gruesome, and Knockout was elbow-deep in a tank’s internals attempting to stem a wound he knew deep in his spark was fatal. But something in his coding urged him to keep trying, to at least let the mech know he made an attempt to ease his suffering as his life-blood spilled out and stained the burnt-out ground.

 

Knockout was blind and deaf to the world around him as he worked, not realizing one of the bots had been coming up behind him, rifle aimed. That is, until he was slammed sideways and rolling with someone much bigger than himself. Fighting them off, his servo was a chainsaw hovering dangerously close to their neck-cables before he was consciously aware of what was happening. 

 

The mech above him had managed to get a grip on his wrist, careful not to crush the delicate mechanisms within as he kept the saw from moving closer. Their optics met, the mech giving a smile before pausing, wincing in pain. He was up in a flash, the telltale sound of a transformation before plating buckled and a dying mech’s screams rang out. A hand was in Knockout’s face, helping him up.

 

Getting a good look at the stranger, Knockout took in they were covered in energon and other fluids, just as their optics started to fritz. “Hello-” was all they could get out before they fell to the ground, a gaping hole in their back. 

 

Realizing he was alone in the area, surrounded only by the dead and this mech he didn’t know, Knockout steeled himself to follow his coding and help his unknown savior. There was nothing to be done about sanitizing his servos of the fluids they were covered in, but the mech needed to survive first before they could worry about infection.

 

Getting him stabilized took a long amount of time, and Knockout had to set up a donation line of his own energon, but in the end, the mech would live. They were found by some sweepers from the neutral camp he was a part of, and after some arguing, Knockout was able to bring the stranger back to camp to make sure he’d survive.

 

Taking in the mech’s faceplates when there wasn’t the stress of battle, Knockout wondered why he’d even bothered saving him? He didn’t recognize the mech from anywhere, but those were questions that would have to wait until he had woken up and could answer them.

 

It took nearly a joor for the mech to leave medical stasis, and time on top of that for Knockout to help them recollect that they had been injured, they were safe, and could they please stop brandishing the hammer around the sensitive medical equipment?

 

“Sorry about that, I got a little spooked. My designation’s Breakdown, who are you?” 

 

“Knockout for the shortform, Knockout of Medical Batch Number 44078 for the long of it.” Knockout hated giving his full designation, but within the camp if word got out he hadn’t he’d be in for a Pit of a heap of trouble. A thoughtful look crossed Breakdown’s face, disappearing in the flicker of a moment. But Knockout knew that look all too well, had seen it too many mechs not to know he was being judged.

 

Well, let the mech judge all he wanted, he owed Knockout for saving his life. Not that many mechs ever acknowledged him for the work he did. Moving on, he pointed at some of the weld patches that still gleamed silver where Breakdown’s self-repair hadn’t started to adapt the metal to his paintscheme. “Keep an eye on the welds and be careful not to overwork them in the coming days or you might get an infection. And considering we’re low on all supplies here, I’d strongly suggest avoiding that. If you need any help with fixing something cosmetically I’m also quite handy with a buffer.”

 

Well, Breakdown wasn’t a fan of taking on a paint-care routine, but as he healed he offered to stay on with the small group and lend an extra set of hands for heavy lifting and fighting. Or well, that’s what the functionalist-following leaders judged him to be best at. When Breakdown wasn’t needed elsewhere he would sneak off to the medbay to meet with Knockout.

 

He’d helped out with basic tasks such as keeping track of their dwindling supplies and keeping an eye on patients monitors, letting Knockout know if any of the reports weren’t coming back right. They’d fallen into an easy companionship as the war dragged on, learning more about the other. 

 

Knockout had been describing how tough is job was on his finish when they were running out of wax, when Breakdown offhandedly asked why Knockout even bothered with his appearance so much. The medic went quiet at that, an unhappy look on his faceplates as he took in his white paint and the factory-standard parts most of his armor still was.

 

“None of my batchmates bother with their appearances. It’s always seen as a waste for medics, but then again, none of us were built with individuality in mind. So it helps me feel more like a mech and less like a drone.” There went that look across Breakdown’s face again, the same as the first time they met, but at least he was polite enough to keep his mouth shut.

 

Breakdown, glancing around for a change in conversation, noticed one of the patients was looking much better. “Hey Knockout, did you expect his vitals to improve that quickly.” Taking a look at the monitor, Knockout froze.

 

“Breakdown, get the crash cart.” Moving towards the patient, Knockout mentally prepared himself as the monitor began to beep, the patient's sparkrate jumping erratically as it began to fade. He felt the crash cart bump his hip and scratch his paint as he plugged into the mech’s port, sending codes that would help him get a better idea of what was happening.

 

His vitals were fading fast, some bits of shrapnel apparently puncturing a major fuel line near the mech’s fuel pump and causing a bleed. He couldn’t keep up line pressure and his spark was starting to gutter. Knockout sent the code to pop the mech’s chestplates open, keeping an eye on his spark as it flickered, Knockout yelled for the defibrillator to try and regulate the sparkbeat. 

 

“Okay, clear!” It had taken a moment to set the mech’s plating properly, but as the electricity coursed through their spark brightened and seemed to stabilize. Moving back the shock-pads, Knockout grabbed a scalpel and some tweezers to get into the mech’s internals. Getting to their fuel pump was a challenge, but he needed to get the shrapnel out and weld the lines shut quickly to make using their precious energon resources worth it.

 

As he attempted to dislodge the shrapnel without further damage, the line fully tore. The mech’s stressed fuel pump sprayed, coating Knockout in energon as the mech faded away. Knockout froze as he felt the caress of Mortilis along his lines, the pain intensifying as his coding attempted to grasp what little was fading away from the mech.

 

He felt a painful jerk on his lines as strong arms held him close, rubbing his plating in an attempt at comfort as Knockout just trembled. 

 

\----

 

It was never a pleasant feeling to be connected to someone as they died. Bits and pieces of their coding would attempt to latch on as the mech fought to survive, and while medic’s coding had firewalls in place to prevent permanent physical damage, it could still create some unfortunate psychological trauma.

 

Even when Knockout managed to regain calmness and set to work on doing what he could for the mech’s corpse, it was easy for Breakdown to see he was still shaking and spacy. He stayed close for the rest of the shift, helping Knockout with the other patients as they prepped the body for recycling. They were dipping too low on critical supplies to not get spare parts from wherever they could.

 

When one of the other medics came to relieve Knockout, he left the room without another word as the medic gave a pointed look to Breakdown, reminding him it was time to start his patrol shift. Stepping out of the room, Breakdown looked to where he’d be reporting for patrol, but found his attention drawn towards where Knockout was heading. He wasn’t going towards the barracks, but instead towards a rocky outcropping near the base.

 

Taking one last glance to where he was supposed to report, Breakdown followed after Knockout, trailing behind and hiding from the other mechs who could report him for abandoning his post.

 

Finding Knockout took a minute when he reached the outcropping, but it was easy to spot the white plating against the dust as he stared off, rubbing at the dent in his hip with a cleaning cloth hard enough to start flaking off the paint.

 

“Knockout?” Breakdown called quietly as he stepped closer, noting the silent tears spilling down Knockout’s face as he kept silently mouthing words. His vents were whining with the stain of attempting to dump the heat that had been building from stress. Moving in slowly, Breakdown called his name again only to receive no answer. 

 

Reaching out, he placed a gentle servo on Knockout’s hip, stopping his rubbing. Tugging gently on the cloth, he pulled it from Knockout’s hand and sat down next to him. Picking up the speedster, he pulled the mech into his lap as Knockout began to sob. Breakdown just drew the medic closer, gently petting his plating and letting Knockout cry it out.

 

\----

 

They didn’t speak about what happened afterwards, but Knockout felt much more relaxed when he was near Breakdown. They settled into an easier rhythm after the lost patient, growing closer as they settled into the medbay work. 

 

The war dragged, and it was clear their small outpost wasn’t going to survive considering their dwindling supplies and increasing stress levels. Punishment details were becoming more common from their commander, the supplies were chronically running out, and energon rationing became tighter and tighter. Frankly, the war was going to kill off the base, it was only a matter of time.

 

“Maybe we could leave?” Breakdown suggested one day when Knockout met him on patrol. When they were out of sight of the base it was safer to talk without prying eyes. Knockout whirled on him in shock, trying to see if Breakdown was joking.

 

“There’s two of us and a whole universe out there! We could die out there!”

 

“And we’ll definitely die here,” Breakdown retorted, “Out there we have a chance.” They’d stopped walking to speak, out of view of the base when a jet passed overhead, a sonic boom hurting their audials as it flew towards the direction of the base.

 

“Wait, no one on base is a flier.” Was all Knockout could manage before the ground rumbled like an earthquake. Smoke flew from the direction of the base as their comms received an emergency ping to help the base. It wasn’t hard to figure out they were under attack. 

 

Knockout sped ahead, leaving Breakdown in the dust as he made a mental list of what medical supplies and rations he kept stored in his subspace and what triage system was going to be in use with the other medics. Comm systems appeared to be overloaded as he took in the destruction on the base, most of the buildings levelled or heavily damaged with smoking craters.

 

Bodies were strewn across the ground, some clearly dead and some actively dying. Knockout ran to a mech who was whimpering in pain, holding his leg where there was supposed to be a stabilizer. The rest of his leg was embedded in a wall, clearly mangled and damaged beyond repair. 

 

Knockout attempted to comfort his patient as he clamped off lines and set to work making sure they could transport him if needed. “Come on, stay with me.” Knockout pleaded as he finished getting the lines closed, setting up an energon ration to replenish the fuel the mech lost. Looking for more comrades to help, he noticed something through the haze of smoke. A moving herd of shadows, all the same height and shape with a deep V glowing red through the quagmire.

 

Knockout switched his hand to a buzzsaw, starting it up as he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, looking to Breakdown to see his hand turned into a hammer with a determined look on his face. Relaxing a little, Knockout moved into his presence and stayed close. Finally, a small squad of three of the attackers approached, weapons drawn.

 

Thinking fast, Knockout put his saw away and stepped towards them, hands high in the air. “Don’t shoot! I’m a medic!” The main unknown pointed his rifle at Knockout and jerked it to the side, moving the medic away from his moaning patient.

 

The other soldier moved closer as Knockout and Breakdown glanced between one another, Knockout hoping his facial expression warned Breakdown not to make a hasty decision. When the soldier was next to them, it placed its gun against the patient's head and pulled the trigger. Knockout could barely react before the gun was being pointed at Breakdown.

 

“Don’t shoot he’s a nurse!” That got the soldier’s attention, drawing their attention from Breakdown to them.

 

“He doesn’t look like a nurse.”

 

“Well, form doesn’t dictate function and all that.” Knockout had heard the phrase uttered mockingly by the more hardline functionalists in the camp, but he’d say whatever it took to get out of this mess. Especially considering the purple badges the mechs wore glinted villainously in the firelight.

 

“Alright, come with us.”

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Knockout remembered that day often when Breakdown and he were shunted from Decepticon camp to Decepticon camp as doctors. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed being branded with the purple badge, but it was better than being branded with a bullet to the processor. He had taught Breakdown how to develop his skills well enough that they had the reputation to stick together.

 

Dealing with the bloody battles was taking a toll on Knockout. He was never fast enough, never  _ skilled _ enough to save a majority of his patients. He often split from Breakdown after the mech had received enough training in the hope that they could save more patients that way, or at least stabilize them enough to get them to a medical bay.

 

This particular patient had their arm and a significant portion of their torso blown off, with the edge of their spark casing showing through the fluid and wires. Knockout was so focused on getting the open lines patched that when he felt a hand on his shoulder he startled. Buzzsaw whirring to life, he whipped around and nearly took Breakdown’s head off. Pausing at the last moment, Breakdown just shot him a reassuring smile and placed a gentle hand on his wrist.

 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Kneeling on the other side of the patient, they both got to work closing the lines and stabilizing for transport, Knockout leaving a beacon for the medivac team to pick up as they moved onto the next casualties. Even with their efficiency and the other medical teams, there were still casualties that moved on to the Well of Allsparks. Knockout took each loss to spark, even with Breakdown for comfort.

 

It had become a routine after battles that when their duties were done and they could recharge, Breakdown would help Knockout clean out his joints and paint. He was frankly a maestro with the buffer, helping Knockout relax by cleaning up his paint back to its usual pristine shine. They would talk, or sit in silence depending on whether the battle was won or lost, and mentally work through what they had seen.

 

After Cybertron went dark, Knockout felt that Functionalism had truly been destroyed, or at the very least, would not be his concern for a million years hopefully. On one of the better-supplied planets, that had become somewhat of a trading hub for the Decepticon military. Knockout had received a small stipend for his work, and considering he had rations included, he saved up supplies to strip off one of the more stark reminders of functionalism.

 

He’d always preferred red paint.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They’d gotten separated in battle. Knockout panicked as he looked for Breakdown, but the Autobots had been approaching fast and there was only so much ground he could cover before he was forced to fall back. His spark sunk deeper and deeper into his pedes as he realized that Breakdown wasn’t on the evac ship, and hadn’t been accounted for on any of the others.

 

Breakdown had found himself surrounded by a pile of dead Autobots, covered in dents with the Autobot forces swiftly approaching. Considering the whole situation was scrap, a half-baked plan formed in his head. Switching his hammer back into his servo, he ripped an autobot symbol from a corpse and used his medical welder to slap it onto his chest. Turning his servo back into a hammer, he smashed the dead mech’s chest plating in until it was smithereens.

 

Focusing his thoughts on Knockout, he took a steadying vent, bent his stabilizer, and brought the hammer down as hard as he could, crushing the joint until it bent the wrong way. Resisting the urge to scream, his optics fritzed as he fought not to black out from the pain. 

 

He lost that battle as he fell unconscious, just hoping his ruse would work.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Being rescued by the Autobots hadn’t been the worst thing to happen to Breakdown, but having to fight with the Wreckers could be. Sure, being able to really let loose and fight with all his might could be fun, but he worried that with each passing battle his chances of finding Knockout would slim.

 

Travelling with the Wreckers could take its toll on any bot. They did the Autobot’s dirty work, and sure, he had formed “camaraderie” with those around him, including a hulking green mech named Bulkhead, but he was focused on Knockout and finding the mech. He scanned the battles every chance he could for a sign of the medic, and just when he felt his luck had run out, he quite literally ran into the mech.

 

Knockout had a patient up on a stretcher to load into a transport when a huge form barreled into him. Being knocked to the ground left Knockout on the defensive, claws ready to stab deep into the mech’s yellow optics until he took in the orange face-plate. “Breakdown?”

 

Breakdown lost his balance and fell on the mech as he was pulled into a tight hug, the transport taking one look at them and leaving to let them have their moment. Knockout tapped Breakdown on the side to let him up, checking blue plating for wounds while fussing and trying not to cry. 

 

“Oh I missed you! Where were you!” Red eyes caught red badge and Knockout had to resist the urge to smack Breakdown.

 

“You joined the Wreckers! Of all the Primus-forsaken ‘bots, you joined the Wreckers!” Breakdown blanched at his partner’s quick switch, trying to placate Knockout as the mech railed he was going to be reformatted into just a hammer or some other tool, it was hard to tell through the angry tone.

 

“Love you too, Knockout.” Was all Breakdown could respond, happy to see Knockout still cared enough to be upset with him. The medic paused mid-tirade, a smug grin spreading on his face.

 

“And I love you, but we need to get out of here.” Knockout had tuned out the sound of battle, too focused on Breakdown, but they had a job to do. Getting up, he offered a hand to his partner-in-crime, pulling the blue mech up.

 

Only for an unfamiliar voice to ring out through the quagmire. “Breakdown!” Knockout turned to glare at the mech as an unfamiliar vehicle loomed closer, Autobrand on full display.

 

“Friend?”

 

“Foe.” Switching servo to hammer, Breakdown stepped in front of Knockout as Bulkhead transformed, taking in the two mechs.

 

“Breakdown, he’s a Con? Why haven’t you taken care of him already?” Bulkhead looked at the pair in confusion, then fully took in how Breakdown had positioned himself between the two.

 

Realization dawned quick on Bulkhead’s faceplates, and he growled, wrecking ball at the ready. “You’re a Con?!” The pure indignation was funny in a way, and Breakdown met his challenge by brandishing his hammer.

 

“Always have been, Bulky.” The two mechs charged, metal clanging and sparks flying as the titans duked it out. Breakdown smashed Bulkhead’s arm with the hammer, Bulkhead slammed the wrecking ball into his abdomen in a way that was definitely going to leave a mark. 

 

Knockout watched the battle with experienced optics, pulling a shock-prod from subspace as he timed Breakdown’s movements and watched for an opening. Sneaking into an opening, Bulkhead looked down just in time to see Knockout’s wicked grin as the prod connected with his neck, seizing his frame with a shock of electricity that could cripple a tank. 

 

Leaving the bot twitching on the ground, Knockout turned to Breakdown. “Ready to go, partner?”

 

Breakdown smiled, giving one last kick to Bulkhead’s abdomen before he transformed, driving off back to the rendezvous point with Knockout.

 

Escaping in silence, Breakdown felt a comm ping his lines. 

 

“Do you really mean what you said back there?”

 

“Every word.” Breakdown gently nudged Knockout’s alt mode, earning an indignant squabble even as he settled more confidently on his wheel wells.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Hiding on Earth had had its ups and downs. Due to the general disorder that occurred when Megatron left for three years, Knockout and Breakdown had set off around the planet “scouting.” Really, it was an excuse to enjoy one another’s company in relative peace. Their relationship had been in secret for a while, but  with so few eyes and the large lapses of time spent not dealing with the Autobots or other enemies, they stole off to remote corners and busy cities to take in the sights.

 

While Knockout cared little for the organics, their choices of automobile made him giddy when he had to pick a disguise. While Breakdown had gone the utilitarian route, a little Earth place called Monaco had vehicles that suited Knockout’s tastes more.

 

When they were in one of the uncharted areas of Earth, or at least one of the more remote areas away from the active energon mines, they’d try to relax and recuperate their injuries both physical and mental. A war that had led to their race seemingly losing nearly everything took its toll, but having each other made the Universe seem more full of opportunity than a dangerous place fought with peril for the last remnants of a dying race.

 

Gazing up at the stars, watching the silent sentinels slowly turn in the night, they held servos and reflected on the paths their lives had taken.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!!! :D


End file.
